Pride and Prejudice

Jane Austen's comedy of manners follows the five Bennet sisters in a Hertfordshire neighbourhood where the arrival of two young men of fortune — the easy, amiable Mr. Bingley and his proud friend Mr. Darcy — sets every drawing-room scheming. At its centre, the sharp-tongued Elizabeth Bennet and the reserved Darcy must each unlearn the first impressions that have set them against one another, while the follies of family, the stratagems of suitors, and the precariousness of women's prospects shape every walk in the park and every assembly in the village.

VOLUME I

Chapter I

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady one day, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?" A young man of large fortune — a Mr. Bingley — had taken it, and Mrs. Bennet was already scheming. "Four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!"

Mr. Bennet received this intelligence with his customary dryness. He saw no occasion to call on the gentleman; his wife and daughters might go themselves. "As you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party."

Mrs. Bennet was not amused. She implored him to think of his daughters, of the establishment such a match would provide. Mr. Bennet offered to send a few lines assuring Bingley of "my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls — though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy."

His wife protested that Lizzy was no better than the others. "They have none of them much to recommend them," he replied. "They are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters."

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice that three-and-twenty years of marriage had not been sufficient for his wife to understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop: she was a woman of mean understanding and uncertain temper, whose business in life was to get her daughters married.

Chapter II

Mr. Bennet was among the earliest to call on Mr. Bingley, though he had assured his wife to the last that he should not go. The visit was disclosed only that evening, when he addressed his second daughter: "I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy," observing her trimming a hat.

Mrs. Bennet, who had been lamenting their inability to visit, was thrown into confusion. Mr. Bennet drew out the revelation with exquisite slowness, teasing his wife and daughters until the truth emerged — he had already paid the call that morning.

The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished. Mrs. Bennet's joy surpassed the rest, though she quickly declared it was what she had expected all the while. "What an excellent father you have, girls!" she cried when he had left the room, fatigued with her raptures. The rest of the evening was spent conjecturing how soon Bingley would return the visit and when they should ask him to dinner.

Chapter III

The Bennet ladies could extract no satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley from their father, and were obliged to rely on Lady Lucas's report: he was quite young, wonderfully handsome, and meant to attend the next assembly with a large party.

At the ball, Mr. Bingley arrived with only four companions: his two sisters, Mr. Hurst, and his friend Mr. Darcy. Bingley was good-looking and easy-mannered, making himself acquainted with everyone and dancing every dance. Darcy drew attention at first for his fine person and ten thousand a year, but his proud, aloof manner soon turned the room against him. He danced only twice, declined all introductions, and spent the evening walking about in evident disdain.

Elizabeth Bennet, sitting out for want of partners, overheard Bingley urging Darcy to dance. "She is tolerable," Darcy said, glancing at Elizabeth, "but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men."

Elizabeth bore the insult with spirit, telling the story among her friends with great amusement, for she had a lively, playful disposition which delighted in anything ridiculous. The evening passed off pleasantly enough: Jane had been much admired by Bingley, who danced with her twice, and Mrs. Bennet returned home in raptures — though not before denouncing Darcy as "a most disagreeable, horrid man."

Chapter IV

Alone together, Jane confessed to Elizabeth how much she admired Bingley. "He is just what a young man ought to be — sensible, good-humoured, lively." Elizabeth teased that he was also handsome, "which a young man ought likewise to be if he possibly can."

Elizabeth observed that Jane's generous nature led her to think well of everyone, while she herself was less disposed to approve Bingley's sisters, whose behaviour at the assembly had been proud and conceited. They were fine ladies of fortune, educated in town, accustomed to associating with people of rank — and therefore entitled, in their own estimation, to think well of themselves and meanly of others.

Between Bingley and Darcy there existed a steady friendship despite great opposition of character. Bingley was open, easy, and ductile; Darcy was clever but haughty, reserved, and fastidious. Of the Meryton assembly, Bingley declared he had never met pleasanter people; Darcy had seen a collection in whom there was little beauty and no fashion. Miss Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty — but she smiled too much.

Chapter V

Within a short walk of Longbourn lived the Lucas family, headed by Sir William, who had been formerly in trade and risen to a knighthood — a distinction perhaps felt too strongly, for it had given him a disgust to business and inspired him to remove to Lucas Lodge, where he could occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. His eldest daughter Charlotte, a sensible young woman of about seven-and-twenty, was Elizabeth's intimate friend.

The morning after the assembly, the Miss Lucases came to Longbourn to talk over the ball. Charlotte confirmed that Bingley had declared the eldest Miss Bennet the prettiest woman in the room. As for Darcy's slight, Elizabeth bore it with good humour: "I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine."

Mary, who piqued herself on the solidity of her reflections, offered a distinction between pride and vanity that nobody attended to, and a young Lucas boy declared that if he were as rich as Mr. Darcy, he should not care how proud he was.

Chapter VI

The ladies of Longbourn called on those of Netherfield, and the visit was returned. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst found the mother intolerable and the younger sisters not worth speaking to, but expressed a wish to know the two eldest better. Elizabeth observed that Bingley plainly admired Jane, and Jane was yielding to a preference for him — though her composure of temper would guard her feelings from the world's notice.

Elizabeth mentioned this to Charlotte, who counselled that concealment could be a disadvantage. "If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him." Jane should show more than she felt, Charlotte argued; there would be leisure for falling in love once she was secure of him. Elizabeth disagreed: "These are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by design."

Meanwhile, Elizabeth was quite unaware that she herself was becoming an object of interest to Mr. Darcy. He had scarcely allowed her to be pretty at the ball, but upon further acquaintance he began to find her face rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes, her figure light and pleasing, her manners easy and playful.

At a party at Lucas Lodge, Darcy attended to Elizabeth's conversation with others, drawing her notice. She teased him lightly, and when Sir William Lucas attempted to present her as a partner, she drew back with spirit: "Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing." Darcy requested the honour of her hand with grave propriety, but in vain — and her resistance did not injure her with him.

Miss Bingley, observing his attention, tried to draw him into criticising the company. Instead, Darcy confessed he had been meditating on "the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow." Pressed for the lady's name, he replied with great intrepidity: "Miss Elizabeth Bennet." Miss Bingley affected astonishment and teased him about his future mother-in-law at Pemberley. He listened with perfect indifference.

Chapter VII

Mr. Bennet's property consisted almost entirely of an estate worth two thousand a year, which was entailed, in default of heirs male, on a distant relation. Mrs. Bennet's fortune could but ill supply the deficiency, and the girls' prospects depended entirely upon marriage. Mrs. Bennet had a sister married to a Mr. Philips, an attorney in Meryton, and a brother settled in London in a respectable line of trade.

The two youngest Bennet daughters, Catherine and Lydia, were particularly occupied with the militia regiment newly quartered in Meryton. They could talk of nothing but officers, and Mr. Bingley's large fortune was worthless in their eyes compared to the regimentals of an ensign. Mr. Bennet observed drily that they must be "two of the silliest girls in the country." Mrs. Bennet protested: "If I wished to think slightingly of anybody's children, it should not be of my own."

A note arrived from Miss Bingley, inviting Jane to dine at Netherfield while the gentlemen were engaged with the officers. Mrs. Bennet, scheming brilliantly, refused the carriage and sent Jane on horseback — knowing it would rain. "Then you must stay all night." Her hopes were answered: it rained hard the whole evening, and the next morning brought word that Jane had caught a violent cold and was too unwell to return home.

"If your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness — if she should die," said Mr. Bennet, "it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders."

Elizabeth, feeling truly anxious, resolved to walk the three miles to Netherfield. She crossed field after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing over puddles, and arrived with weary ankles, dirty stockings, and a face glowing with the warmth of exercise. The Bingley sisters were incredulous that she had come so far alone in such weather; Mr. Darcy said very little, though he was divided between admiration of the brilliancy exercise had given her complexion and doubt as to the propriety of her coming so far alone. Bingley received her with genuine kindness.

Jane was feverish and confined to bed. The apothecary came and advised rest. Elizabeth would not quit her sister's room for a moment, and when Jane showed such distress at the thought of parting, Miss Bingley converted the offer of a carriage home into an invitation to remain at Netherfield. Elizabeth gratefully consented.

Chapter VIII

At dinner, the sisters repeated three or four times how grieved they were at Jane's illness, how shocking it was to have a bad cold — then thought no more of the matter. Their indifference, when Jane was not immediately before them, restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike. Bingley alone showed genuine anxiety, and his attentions to Elizabeth herself prevented her feeling so much an intruder as she believed the others considered her.

When Elizabeth returned to Jane's room, Miss Bingley began abusing her freely. Her manners were pronounced very bad — "a mixture of pride and impertinence." Mrs. Hurst added: "Her petticoat, six inches deep in mud!" Bingley defended her warmly: "I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning."

Miss Bingley turned to Darcy: "I am afraid this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes."

"Not at all," he replied. "They were brightened by the exercise."

The sisters then lamented that the Bennets' low connections — an uncle who was an attorney in Meryton, another who lived somewhere near Cheapside — must materially lessen their chances of marrying well. "If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable." But Darcy quietly agreed that such connections must tell against them.

That evening, Elizabeth declined cards and took up a book. A lively debate arose about what constituted a truly accomplished woman. Miss Bingley enumerated the usual catalogue — music, singing, drawing, dancing, the modern languages — and Darcy added that she must possess "something more substantial in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."

"I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women," Elizabeth replied. "I rather wonder now at your knowing any."

Jane grew worse in the night, and Bingley urged that Mr. Jones be sent for early in the morning. His sisters declared themselves miserable, then solaced their wretchedness with duets after supper, while Bingley gave his housekeeper directions that every possible attention be paid to the sick lady and her sister.

Chapter IX

Jane continued to mend, and Elizabeth sent for Mrs. Bennet to judge the situation for herself. Mrs. Bennet arrived with her two youngest daughters and, satisfied that Jane's illness was not alarming, had no wish for her speedy recovery — her restoration to health would remove her from Netherfield. She declared Jane far too ill to be moved.

In the breakfast parlour, Mrs. Bennet's conversation proved a source of acute mortification to Elizabeth. She praised Netherfield extravagantly, boasted of dining with four-and-twenty families, and when Darcy observed that the country could supply but few subjects for the study of character, she took offence and launched into a spirited defence of country life. Elizabeth blushed for her mother and tried to turn the conversation, but Mrs. Bennet only moved on to praising Jane's beauty and disparaging Charlotte Lucas's plainness.

A lively exchange between Elizabeth and Darcy on the subject of poetry and love provided a brief respite. "I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love," said Darcy. "Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may," Elizabeth replied. "But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

Before departing, Lydia boldly reminded Bingley of his promise to give a ball at Netherfield. He agreed readily — once Jane was recovered, they should name the very day. Mrs. Bennet and her daughters departed, and Elizabeth returned to Jane, leaving her family's behaviour to the remarks of the company. Darcy, however, could not be prevailed upon to join in Miss Bingley's censure of Elizabeth, despite all her witticisms on fine eyes.

Chapter X

The following evening, Elizabeth joined the party in the drawing-room. Darcy was writing a letter to his sister while Miss Bingley hovered about him with perpetual commendations of his handwriting, the evenness of his lines, and the length of his letter — all received with perfect unconcern.

A spirited debate arose when Bingley claimed he would quit Netherfield in five minutes if he resolved to go. Darcy argued that Bingley's conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as any man's — that a single word from a friend would make him stay a month. Elizabeth interjected that Darcy had only proved Bingley did not do justice to his own sweet temper. The conversation turned to whether yielding to a friend's persuasion was a merit or a weakness. "To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either," Darcy declared. Elizabeth countered that he allowed nothing for the influence of friendship and affection.

Later, as Miss Bingley played a lively Scotch air, Darcy approached Elizabeth: "Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"

"You wanted me, I know, to say 'Yes,' that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste," she replied. "But I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes. I have, therefore, made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all; and now despise me if you dare."

"Indeed I do not dare."

Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman. He really believed that, were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger. Miss Bingley, seeing enough to be jealous, tried to provoke him by planning his happiness in such an alliance — imagining the portraits of Elizabeth's uncle and aunt Philips hung in the gallery at Pemberley. Darcy refused to be drawn, and when the path proved too narrow for their walking party, Elizabeth laughingly declined to squeeze in: "You are charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Good-bye." She ran gaily off, rejoicing in the hope of being home in a day or two.

Chapter XI

When Jane was well enough to join the party in the drawing-room, Bingley was full of joy and attention, piling up the fire lest she suffer from the change of room and scarcely speaking to anyone else. Elizabeth observed it all with great delight.

Miss Bingley, failing to engage Darcy in conversation over their books, persuaded Elizabeth to take a turn about the room with her — a stratagem that succeeded in drawing Darcy's notice. He declined to join them, observing that they walked either to share confidences or because they were conscious their figures appeared to greatest advantage — "if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire."

This led to a sparring exchange between Elizabeth and Darcy on the subject of his character. She declared she dearly loved a laugh; he warned that the wisest actions could be rendered ridiculous by one whose first object was a joke. Elizabeth pressed further: "And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody."

"And yours," he replied with a smile, "is wilfully to misunderstand them."

Darcy, after a few moments' recollection, was not sorry when music ended the conversation. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention.

Chapter XII

Elizabeth wrote to her mother requesting the carriage, but Mrs. Bennet refused to send it before Tuesday, hoping to prolong Jane's stay at Netherfield. Elizabeth was positively resolved against staying longer, and at length they borrowed Bingley's carriage. He heard of their departure with real sorrow and tried to persuade Jane she was not recovered enough, but she was firm.

To Darcy it was welcome intelligence. Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough — she attracted him more than he liked. He wisely resolved that no sign of admiration should escape him, and scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday.

On Sunday the sisters departed. Their mother was not pleased to see them home so soon, but their father was really glad — the evening conversation had lost much of its animation in their absence. Catherine and Lydia had news of a different sort: a private had been flogged, and it was hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married.

Chapter XIII

Mr. Bennet announced that they were to receive a visitor: his cousin Mr. Collins, the clergyman who stood next in the entail of Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet could not bear to hear the entail mentioned, but Mr. Bennet read aloud Collins's letter — a masterpiece of servility and self-importance, full of deference to his patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh and vague promises to make amends to the Bennet daughters for inheriting their home.

"He must be an oddity, I think," said Elizabeth. "Can he be a sensible man, sir?"

"No, my dear; I think not. I have great hopes of finding him quite the reverse."

Mr. Collins arrived punctually — a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty, grave and formal. He complimented Mrs. Bennet on her fine daughters and admired every room and piece of furniture, though his commendation would have pleased her more had she not suspected he viewed it all as his own future property. He assured the young ladies he came "prepared to admire them," hinting at intentions he was not yet ready to disclose.

Chapter XIV

Mr. Bennet drew out his guest on the subject of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise — her condescension, her affability, her gracious approval of his sermons, her advice that he marry with discretion. He described her daughter Miss de Bourgh as a most charming young lady, unfortunately of sickly constitution, and confessed to paying Lady Catherine such compliments as telling her that her daughter "seemed born to be a duchess."

"May I ask," said Mr. Bennet, "whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?"

Mr. Collins admitted he sometimes arranged such elegant compliments in advance, though he always wished to give them as unstudied an air as possible. Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered — his cousin was as absurd as he had hoped.

When invited to read aloud, Mr. Collins refused a novel from the circulating library and chose Fordyce's Sermons instead. Lydia interrupted him after three pages with gossip about the officers, and Mr. Collins, much offended, laid aside his book. He settled for backgammon with Mr. Bennet, observing that he acted wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements.

Chapter XV

Mr. Collins was not a sensible man. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant, and the respect he felt for her high rank, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.

Having now a good house and sufficient income, he intended to marry — and in seeking reconciliation with the Longbourn family, he had a wife in view. His plan of atonement for inheriting their father's estate was to choose one of the daughters. Miss Bennet's lovely face confirmed his views, but a quarter of an hour's tête-à-tête with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast altered everything: Jane, she hinted amid complaisant smiles, was likely to be very soon engaged. Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth — and it was done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire.

Mr. Bennet, anxious to reclaim his library from his guest's incessant talk of Hunsford, was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters on their walk to Meryton.

In Meryton, the younger girls' attention was caught by a young man they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking with an officer. Mr. Denny introduced his friend Mr. Wickham, who had accepted a commission in their corps. The young man wanted only regimentals to make him completely charming: he had all the best parts of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address, with a happy readiness of conversation perfectly correct and unassuming.

While they stood talking, Darcy and Bingley rode up. Elizabeth, happening to see the countenance of both Darcy and Wickham as they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour — one looked white, the other red. Wickham touched his hat, a salutation which Darcy just deigned to return. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.

At Mrs. Philips's house, the aunt promised to invite Wickham to their evening party the next day.

Chapter XVI

At the Philipses' party, Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated himself. The agreeable manner in which he fell into conversation made her feel that the commonest, dullest topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker.

While Mr. Collins occupied Mrs. Philips with descriptions of Lady Catherine's grandeur — the chimney-piece alone at Rosings had cost eight hundred pounds — Wickham and Elizabeth talked at the card table. Her curiosity about his acquaintance with Darcy was unexpectedly relieved when Wickham began the subject himself.

He confided that he had been connected with the Darcy family from infancy. His father had devoted his life to the care of the Pemberley property, and the late Mr. Darcy — Wickham's godfather — had been excessively attached to him. "He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it," Wickham said. The elder Darcy had bequeathed him the next presentation of the best living in his gift. "But when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."

"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth. "But how could that be? Why did not you seek legal redress?"

"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it — or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence — in short, anything or nothing." The living had become vacant exactly when Wickham was of age to hold it, and it was given to another man. "The fact is that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me."

"This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced."

"Some time or other he will be — but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him."

Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them. Wickham attributed Darcy's cruelty to jealousy — the late Mr. Darcy's uncommon attachment to Wickham had irritated his son from early in life. Yet Wickham painted a complex portrait: Darcy's pride had often led him to be liberal and generous, to assist his tenants and relieve the poor. Family pride and brotherly affection made him a kind guardian to his sister — though Wickham added, with a shake of his head, that Miss Darcy was "too much like her brother — very, very proud."

Elizabeth recalled Darcy's own boast at Netherfield of his implacable resentments. "His disposition must be dreadful," she said.

Wickham then revealed that Lady Catherine de Bourgh was Darcy's aunt, and that her daughter Miss de Bourgh was widely expected to marry him — uniting the two great estates. This intelligence made Elizabeth smile, thinking of poor Miss Bingley, whose attentions to Darcy must be vain indeed if he were already self-destined to another.

Elizabeth went away with her head full of Wickham. She could think of nothing but what he had told her all the way home, though there was no time to mention his name — Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, and Mr. Collins enumerated every dish at supper, protesting he did not in the least regard his losses at whist.

Chapter XVII

Elizabeth related Wickham's account to Jane the next day. Jane listened with astonishment and concern — she knew not how to believe that Darcy could be so unworthy of Bingley's regard, yet it was not in her nature to question the veracity of a young man of such amiable appearance. "They have both been deceived, I dare say, in some way or other," she concluded. "It is impossible for us to conjecture the causes which may have alienated them, without actual blame on either side."

"Very true, indeed," said Elizabeth, "and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say in behalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the business? Do clear them, too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody."

Jane could not be laughed out of her opinion. Elizabeth was less charitable: "I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being imposed on than that Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me last night; names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremony. If it be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his looks."

The Bingleys came to deliver their personal invitation for the long-expected ball at Netherfield, fixed for the following Tuesday. The prospect was extremely agreeable to every female of the family. Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Wickham and of seeing confirmation of everything in Darcy's look and behaviour. But Mr. Collins solicited her hand for the first two dances — "a preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right cause" — and Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully proposed being engaged by Wickham for those very dances, and to have Mr. Collins instead! Her liveliness had been never worse timed.

She was not the better pleased with his gallantry from the idea it suggested of something more. It now first struck her that she was selected as worthy of being the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage. Her mother gave her to understand that the probability of their marriage was exceedingly agreeable, but Elizabeth did not choose to take the hint, being well aware that a serious dispute must be the consequence of any reply.

Chapter XVIII

Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield dressed with more than usual care, prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of Wickham's heart — and looked in vain for him among the cluster of red coats. Mr. Denny confirmed he had been obliged to go to town on business, adding with a significant smile, "I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here."

Every feeling of displeasure against Darcy was sharpened by this immediate disappointment. She was resolved against any sort of conversation with him.

The first two dances with Mr. Collins were dances of mortification. He was awkward and solemn, apologizing instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it. The moment of her release from him was ecstasy. She danced next with an officer and had the refreshment of talking of Wickham and hearing that he was universally liked.

She was then taken by surprise when Mr. Darcy applied for her hand, and without knowing what she did, she accepted him. Charlotte tried to console her: "I dare say you will find him very agreeable."

"Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate!"

Their dance was a sparring match conducted in undertones. They stood for some time without speaking, until Elizabeth broke the silence: "It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."

He smiled and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said. "Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?" he asked.

"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet, for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."

When she mentioned having formed a new acquaintance in Meryton, a deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features. "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may insure his making friends," Darcy said carefully. "Whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain."

"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship," Elizabeth replied with emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."

She pressed him further, recalling his own boast of implacable resentment. "And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?" she asked. "I hope not," he replied. She tried to sketch his character, but he warned that the performance would reflect no credit on either of them. "But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity," she said. They went down the other dance and parted in silence — on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was a tolerably powerful feeling towards her which soon procured her pardon and directed all his anger against another.

Miss Bingley then accosted Elizabeth with a warning against Wickham, calling him the son of old Mr. Darcy's steward and insisting that Darcy had been remarkably kind to him. "His guilt and his descent appear, by your account, to be the same," Elizabeth replied angrily, "for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy's steward." She dismissed the interference as wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy.

Jane, meanwhile, had inquired of Bingley, who vouched for Darcy's honour but could not recollect the particulars of the living — he believed it had been left conditionally only. Elizabeth was not convinced by assurances at second hand and ventured still to think of both gentlemen as she did before.

Mr. Collins, having discovered that Darcy was Lady Catherine's nephew, insisted on introducing himself despite Elizabeth's protests. Darcy received his solemn bow and speech about Hunsford with unrestrained wonder and distant civility. Collins returned delighted, convinced Darcy had been much pleased with the attention.

At supper, Mrs. Bennet talked loudly to Lady Lucas of her expectation that Jane would soon marry Bingley — his being such a charming young man, so rich, and living but three miles from them. Elizabeth could perceive that Darcy, sitting opposite, overheard every word. "For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower," she begged. "What advantage can it be to you to offend Mr. Darcy?" Her mother would not be silenced: "What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him?"

Then Mary sang — her voice weak, her manner affected — until Mr. Bennet cut her off: "That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit." Mr. Collins followed with a long speech about the compatibility of music with the clerical profession, concluding with a bow to Mr. Darcy that was heard by half the room.

To Elizabeth it appeared that her family had made an agreement to expose themselves as much as possible, and she could not determine whether the silent contempt of the gentleman or the insolent smiles of the ladies were more intolerable.

The Longbourn party were the last to depart. Bingley engaged to call at Longbourn after a short trip to London. Mrs. Bennet quitted the house under the delightful persuasion that she should see Jane settled at Netherfield within three or four months — and another daughter married to Mr. Collins with equal certainty, though not equal pleasure.

Chapter XIX

The next day, Mr. Collins made his declaration. Having resolved to do it without loss of time, he set about it in a very orderly manner, requesting a private audience with Elizabeth. She tried to escape, but Mrs. Bennet insisted she stay.

His proposal was a masterpiece of absurdity. He enumerated his reasons for marrying: first, that every clergyman should set the example of matrimony; secondly, that it would add to his happiness; and thirdly — "which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier" — that it was the particular recommendation of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who had advised him between their pools at quadrille: "Mr. Collins, you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake." He then explained that, being heir to Longbourn, he wished to choose a wife from among the Bennet daughters, "that the loss to them might be as little as possible" when their father died. He concluded by assuring Elizabeth of "the violence of my affection" and promising never to reproach her for her small fortune.

"You are too hasty, sir," Elizabeth cried. "You forget that I have made no answer. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline."

Mr. Collins was not discouraged. He knew it was usual for young ladies to reject the man they secretly meant to accept. Elizabeth assured him she was perfectly serious — he could not make her happy, and she was the last woman who would make him so. But he persisted, convinced her refusal was merely the delicacy of the female character, and declared he would hope to lead her to the altar ere long.

"Really, Mr. Collins," cried Elizabeth with some warmth, "if what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as may convince you of its being one."

Chapter XX

Mrs. Bennet, who had been hovering in the vestibule, rushed in to congratulate them — and was horrified to learn that Elizabeth had refused. She flew to Mr. Bennet: "You must come and make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins, for she vows she will not have him!"

Elizabeth was summoned to the library. "An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth," said her father with calm unconcern. "Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do."

Mrs. Bennet was excessively disappointed. She talked to Elizabeth again and again, coaxed and threatened by turns, but her determination never wavered. Mr. Collins, his pride hurt but suffering in no other way — his regard for Elizabeth had been quite imaginary — withdrew his pretensions with a speech of elaborate resignation, observing that "resignation is never so perfect as when the blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value in our estimation."

Chapter XXI

Mr. Collins transferred his assiduous attentions to Charlotte Lucas, whose civility in listening to him was a seasonable relief to them all, and especially to her friend. He scarcely spoke to Elizabeth; his feelings were expressed not by dejection but by stiffness of manner and resentful silence.

After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to inquire after Wickham. He joined them and voluntarily acknowledged that his absence from the ball had been self-imposed. "I found, as the time drew near, that I had better not meet Mr. Darcy; that to be in the same room, the same party with him for so many hours together, might be more than I could bear." Elizabeth highly approved his forbearance, and he walked back with them to Longbourn, where she had the pleasure of introducing him to her parents.

Soon after their return, a letter arrived from Caroline Bingley. Elizabeth saw Jane's countenance change as she read it. In their room, Jane revealed the news: the whole Netherfield party had left for London, without any intention of returning. Caroline wrote that they were certain Bingley's business could not be concluded quickly, and "convinced that when Charles gets to town he will be in no hurry to leave it again." Worse still, she hinted broadly at a match between Bingley and Georgiana Darcy: "I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something still more interesting from the hope we dare to entertain of her being hereafter our sister."

"Is it not clear enough?" said Jane. "Does it not expressly declare that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister?"

Elizabeth saw through the scheme at once. "Miss Bingley sees that her brother is in love with you and wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She follows him to town in the hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he does not care about you."

Jane could not believe Caroline capable of such wilful deception. "All that I can hope in this case is that she is deceived herself."

"That is right. You could not have started a more happy idea, since you will not take comfort in mine. Believe her to be deceived, by all means."

But Jane's anxiety was not so easily dispelled. "Can I be happy, even supposing the best, in accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry elsewhere?"

"If, upon mature deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his two sisters is more than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife," said Elizabeth, "I advise you, by all means, to refuse him."

Jane smiled faintly. She was gradually led to hope that Bingley would return to Netherfield and answer every wish of her heart — though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope.

Chapter XXII

Charlotte Lucas's kindness in listening to Mr. Collins had a deeper object than Elizabeth suspected: she meant to secure his addresses for herself. The morning after his last dinner at Longbourn, Collins escaped the house with admirable slyness and hastened to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at Charlotte's feet. Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window and set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. In as short a time as his long speeches would allow, everything was settled between them.

Charlotte had accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an establishment. Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object — the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune. At seven-and-twenty, without having ever been handsome, she felt all the good luck of it. Mr. Collins was neither sensible nor agreeable, but still he would be her husband.

When Charlotte told Elizabeth, her friend's astonishment overcame the bounds of decorum. "Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte, impossible!"

"I am not romantic, you know," Charlotte replied calmly. "I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins's character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state."

Elizabeth could not be reconciled to so unsuitable a match. Charlotte, the wife of Mr. Collins, was a most humiliating picture — and to the pang of a friend disgracing herself was added the conviction that it was impossible for her to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen.

Chapter XXIII

Sir William Lucas came to announce the engagement to the Bennets. Mrs. Bennet protested he must be entirely mistaken; Lydia boisterously exclaimed, "Do not you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?" Elizabeth confirmed the truth and offered her congratulations, but Mrs. Bennet was inconsolable. She persisted in disbelieving the matter, was sure Collins had been taken in, trusted they would never be happy, and blamed Elizabeth as the real cause of all the mischief. A week elapsed before she could see Elizabeth without scolding her.

Mr. Bennet's emotions were more tranquil: it gratified him to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had thought tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife and more foolish than his daughter.

Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was now a restraint which kept them mutually silent. Elizabeth's disappointment in her friend made her turn with fonder regard to Jane, for whose happiness she grew daily more anxious as Bingley remained in London and nothing was heard of his return. Even Elizabeth began to fear that his sisters and Darcy, assisted by the attractions of Miss Darcy and the amusements of London, might prove too much for the strength of his attachment.

VOLUME II

Chapter XXIV

A second letter from Caroline Bingley put an end to doubt. The whole party was settled in London for the winter. Caroline dwelt on Miss Darcy's many attractions, boasted of their increasing intimacy, and mentioned with raptures that Bingley was an inmate of Darcy's house. Hope was over, entirely over.

Jane bore it with her characteristic sweetness. "He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before," she told Elizabeth, adding with a stronger voice: "I have this comfort immediately, that it has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it has done no harm to anyone but myself."

Elizabeth was less forgiving. "The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it," she declared. "Every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters." She could not think of Bingley without anger — his easiness of temper and want of proper resolution had made him the slave of his designing friends.

Jane pleaded for charity: "We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured. It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us." She could not believe his sisters would oppose their brother if they knew he was attached to her. From this time, Bingley's name was scarcely ever mentioned between them.

Wickham's society helped dispel the gloom. His claims against Darcy were now openly acknowledged and publicly canvassed, and everybody was pleased to think how much they had always disliked Darcy before they had known anything of the matter.

Chapter XXV

Mr. Collins departed for Kent to prepare for his bride. On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving her brother and his wife for Christmas. Mr. Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man, greatly superior to his sister as well by nature as education. The Netherfield ladies would have had difficulty believing that a man who lived by trade, and within view of his own warehouses, could have been so well-bred and agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favourite with her Longbourn nieces.

Mrs. Bennet poured out her grievances: two daughters on the point of marriage, and nothing had come of either. "I do not blame Jane, for Jane would have got Mr. Bingley if she could. But Lizzy! It is very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins's wife by this time, had not it been for her own perverseness."

Mrs. Gardiner spoke privately with Elizabeth about Bingley, suggesting that his attachment had perhaps been only a common, transient liking. "An excellent consolation in its way," said Elizabeth, "but it will not do for us. We do not suffer by accident. It does not often happen that the interference of friends will persuade a young man of independent fortune to think no more of a girl whom he was violently in love with only a few days before."

Mrs. Gardiner proposed that Jane return to London with them; a change of scene might be of service. Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased, and Jane accepted with pleasure, hoping she might occasionally see Caroline without danger of encountering Bingley.

During the Gardiners' stay, Mrs. Gardiner observed Elizabeth's warm regard for Wickham and cautioned her niece against encouraging an imprudent attachment. "Do not involve yourself, or endeavour to involve him, in an affection which the want of fortune would make so very imprudent. He is a most interesting young man; and if he had the fortune he ought to have, I should think you could not do better. But as it is — you must not let your fancy run away with you."

Elizabeth promised to take care of herself. "All that I can promise you is not to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first object."

Chapter XXVI

Wickham's apparent partiality for Elizabeth soon subsided; his attentions were over, and he was the admirer of someone else. A Miss King had recently inherited ten thousand pounds, and the sudden acquisition of that fortune was the most remarkable charm of the young lady to whom Wickham was now rendering himself agreeable. Elizabeth bore it without material pain — her heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied with believing she would have been his only choice had fortune permitted it.

She wrote to Mrs. Gardiner with characteristic self-awareness: "I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love; for had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I should at present detest his very name, and wish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards him, they are even impartial towards Miss King."

Jane, meanwhile, had been a week in London without seeing or hearing from Caroline Bingley. When she finally called in Grosvenor Street, Caroline was civil but not in spirits, and reproached Jane for giving no notice of her coming. Four weeks passed with no sight of Bingley. At last Caroline returned Jane's visit — but the shortness of her stay and the alteration of her manner left no room for self-deception. Jane wrote to Elizabeth with painful clarity: "My dearest Lizzy, I confess myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley's regard for me. When she did come, it was very evident that she had no pleasure in it; she made a slight, formal apology for not calling before, said not a word of wishing to see me again, and was in every respect so altered a creature, that I was perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer."

Charlotte's letters from Hunsford were cheerful and mentioned nothing she could not praise — the house, furniture, neighbourhood, and roads were all to her taste, and Lady Catherine's behaviour was most friendly. It was Mr. Collins's picture of Hunsford rationally softened; and Elizabeth perceived she must wait for her own visit to know the rest.

Chapter XXVII

March came, and Elizabeth set off for Hunsford with Sir William Lucas and his daughter Maria. They stopped a night in London, where Elizabeth found Jane healthful and lovely as ever, though there were periods of dejection. Mrs. Gardiner confirmed that Jane had, from her heart, given up the acquaintance with the Bingleys.

Mrs. Gardiner rallied Elizabeth on Wickham's desertion and asked what sort of girl Miss King was. Elizabeth defended him with spirit: "If it were not allowable for him to gain my affections because I had no money, what occasion could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care about, and who was equally poor?" Her aunt was not entirely satisfied, but Elizabeth cut the debate short: "I am sick of them all. Thank heaven! I am going tomorrow where I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all."

"Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment."

Before they parted, Mrs. Gardiner gave Elizabeth the unexpected happiness of an invitation to join a summer tour — perhaps to the Lakes. "My dear, dear aunt," Elizabeth rapturously cried, "what delight! What felicity! Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men to rocks and mountains?"

Chapter XXVIII

Elizabeth arrived at Hunsford in high spirits. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, and Elizabeth was more and more satisfied with coming when she found herself so affectionately received. Her cousin's manners were not altered by marriage — his formal civility was just what it had been — and in displaying the good proportion of every room, he addressed himself particularly to Elizabeth, as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him.

Charlotte wisely did not hear when her husband said anything of which she might reasonably be ashamed. Elizabeth gave her friend credit for the arrangement of the house — particularly the choice of a backwards sitting-room, which ensured Mr. Collins spent most of his time in his own book room fronting the road, rather than with them.

At Rosings, Elizabeth found herself quite equal to the scene. Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman with strongly-marked features, whose air was not conciliating and whose every word was spoken in so authoritative a tone as marked her self-importance. Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly, her features insignificant, speaking very little except in a low voice to Mrs. Jenkinson. Elizabeth thought of Wickham's description and believed Lady Catherine to be exactly what he had represented.

Chapter XXIX

Mr. Collins's triumph at the invitation to dine at Rosings was complete. He carefully instructed his visitors in what to expect, and advised Elizabeth: "Do not make yourself uneasy about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us which becomes herself and daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest."

At Rosings, the dinner was exceedingly handsome, with all the servants and articles of plate Mr. Collins had promised. He took his seat at the bottom of the table by her Ladyship's desire and looked as if life could furnish nothing greater. Lady Catherine talked without intermission, delivering her opinion on every subject in so decisive a manner as proved she was not used to have her judgment controverted. She inquired minutely into Elizabeth's family — how many sisters, whether they were handsome, where educated, what carriage her father kept.

"Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?" she demanded, and upon learning that the Bennet sisters had no governess, was astonished. "Five daughters brought up at home without a governess! I never heard of such a thing."

When she learned that all five sisters were out in society at once, she was more astonished still. Elizabeth defended the practice with spirit: "I think it would be very hard upon younger sisters that they should not have their share of society and amusement because the elder may not have the means or inclination to marry early."

"Upon my word, you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?"

"With three younger sisters grown up," replied Elizabeth, smiling, "your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own it."

Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer, and Elizabeth suspected herself to be the first creature who had ever dared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence.

Chapter XXX

Sir William departed, satisfied that Charlotte was comfortably settled. The whole family returned to their usual employments, and Elizabeth was thankful to find that she did not see more of Mr. Collins by the alteration — the chief of his time was passed at work in the garden or in his own book room.

Lady Catherine was a most active magistrate in her own parish, the minutest concerns of which were carried to her by Mr. Collins. Whenever any of the cottagers were disposed to be quarrelsome, discontented, or too poor, she sallied forth to settle their differences, silence their complaints, and scold them into harmony and plenty. Nothing was beneath this great lady's attention which could furnish her with an occasion for dictating to others.

Elizabeth spent her time comfortably enough — half hours of pleasant conversation with Charlotte, and long walks along a sheltered path in the park where she felt beyond the reach of Lady Catherine's curiosity. Easter was approaching, and with it an addition to the family at Rosings: Mr. Darcy was expected. Elizabeth had heard of his coming soon after her arrival, and though there were not many of her acquaintance whom she did not prefer, his presence would furnish someone comparatively new to look at in their Rosings parties.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address most truly the gentleman, and entered into conversation with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man. Darcy paid his compliments with his usual reserve and sat for some time without speaking. At length Elizabeth inquired whether he had happened to see Jane in London. He answered, with what she thought a look of confusion, that he had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet.

Chapter XXXI

At Rosings on Easter evening, Colonel Fitzwilliam seated himself by Elizabeth and talked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of new books and music, that she had never been half so well entertained in that room. Darcy's eyes were soon and repeatedly turned towards them with a look of curiosity.

When Elizabeth sat down to play, Darcy stationed himself to command a full view of her countenance. "You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me," she said with an arch smile. "But I will not be alarmed. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."

She teased him before Colonel Fitzwilliam about the Meryton ball — how he had danced only four dances though gentlemen were scarce. Darcy admitted he was ill-qualified to recommend himself to strangers. "I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns."

"My fingers do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do," Elizabeth replied. "But I have always supposed it to be my own fault — because I would not take the trouble of practising."

"You are perfectly right," said Darcy with a smile. "We neither of us perform to strangers."

From Darcy's behaviour to Miss de Bourgh, Elizabeth derived comfort for Miss Bingley — he might have been just as likely to marry her, had she been his relation. There was no symptom of love.

Chapter XXXII

Elizabeth was writing to Jane one morning when Darcy called alone, surprised to find her without company. They sat in danger of sinking into total silence. Elizabeth mentioned Bingley's departure from Netherfield; Darcy said it was probable his friend would spend very little time there in future. They spoke of Charlotte's situation, and when Elizabeth called fifty miles no easy distance, Darcy drew his chair towards her and said, "You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn."

Elizabeth looked surprised. He drew back his chair, took up a newspaper, and asked in a colder voice whether she was pleased with Kent. Charlotte, returning, was astonished to find Darcy there. "He must be in love with you, or he would never have called on us in this familiar way."

From this period, the two cousins found a temptation to walk to the Parsonage almost every day. Charlotte watched Darcy whenever they were at Rosings or Hunsford — he certainly looked at Elizabeth a great deal, but the expression of that look was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, but she often doubted whether there was much admiration in it.

Chapter XXXIII

Elizabeth repeatedly met Darcy on her walks in the park. He actually turned back to walk with her, asking odd unconnected questions about her pleasure in being at Hunsford and her opinion of the Collinses' happiness. His words seemed to imply she might one day stay at Rosings herself — could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts?

One day she encountered Colonel Fitzwilliam instead. Their conversation turned to Darcy's love of having his own way. "A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence," Fitzwilliam said, adding that in matters of greater weight, younger sons could not marry where they liked. Elizabeth coloured at the idea that this might be meant for her.

Then Fitzwilliam let slip a devastating piece of intelligence: Darcy had congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from a most imprudent marriage. Elizabeth's heart swelled with indignation. "Why was he to be the judge?" she demanded. "I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend's inclination."

Shut into her own room, she could think of nothing else. She had always attributed the separation of Bingley and Jane principally to Miss Bingley's design, but now it was clear — Darcy's pride and caprice were the cause of all that Jane had suffered. The "strong objections against the lady" were probably her having one uncle who was a country attorney and another in business in London. The agitation brought on a headache, and she determined not to attend the evening party at Rosings.

Chapter XXXIV

That evening, while the others were at Rosings, Elizabeth sat alone re-reading Jane's letters from Kent, noticing in every line a want of cheerfulness that had hardly struck her before. She was roused by the doorbell, and to her utter amazement, Mr. Darcy walked into the room.

After a few agitated moments, he began: "In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides tenderness to be detailed — his sense of her inferiority, of its being a degradation, of the family obstacles which judgment had always opposed to inclination. He dwelt on these with a warmth very unlikely to recommend his suit, and concluded by expressing his hope that his attachment would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. His countenance expressed real security.

Elizabeth's colour rose. "I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone, but it has been most unconsciously done."

Darcy, pale with anger, demanded to know why he was rejected with so little civility. Elizabeth's answer was devastating. She accused him of ruining Jane's happiness by separating her from Bingley, and of cruelly depriving Wickham of the living that was his due. "From the very beginning — from the first moment, I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you — your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."

"You have said quite enough, madam," he replied. "Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness." He hastily left the room.

Elizabeth sat down and cried for half an hour. That Darcy should have been in love with her for so many months — so much in love as to wish to marry her in spite of all the objections he had used to prevent his friend's marrying her sister — was almost incredible. But his abominable pride, his shameless avowal of what he had done to Jane, and his unfeeling manner regarding Wickham soon overcame whatever pity his attachment had excited.

Chapter XXXV

The next morning, Elizabeth walked out to recover herself and encountered Darcy near the park gate. He held out a letter, said with haughty composure, "Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?" and turned away.

The letter addressed her two accusations in turn. Regarding Bingley and Jane, Darcy admitted everything. He had observed Bingley's partiality but believed Jane indifferent — "her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard." He acknowledged that his objections went beyond her family's want of connection to "that total want of propriety so frequently betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father." He had joined with Bingley's sisters in persuading him against returning to Hertfordshire, and confessed to one act he did not reflect on with satisfaction: concealing from Bingley that Jane was in London.

Regarding Wickham, the letter told a very different story. Wickham had indeed been left a valuable living by the elder Mr. Darcy, but had voluntarily resigned all claim to it in exchange for three thousand pounds, intending to study law. He had squandered the money in idleness and dissipation, then applied again for the living when it fell vacant — a request Darcy refused. Most painfully, Darcy revealed that the previous summer, Wickham had insinuated himself into the affections of Darcy's fifteen-year-old sister Georgiana and persuaded her to consent to an elopement. Darcy had arrived unexpectedly and prevented it. "Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement."

The letter concluded: "For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam."

Chapter XXXVI

Elizabeth read Darcy's letter with a contrariety of emotion scarcely to be defined. At first she was all prejudice — his belief of Jane's insensibility she instantly resolved to be false, and his account of the objections to the match made her too angry to do him justice.

But when she came to his account of Wickham, her feelings were yet more acutely painful. She wished to discredit it entirely, exclaiming, "This must be false!" Yet when she read and re-read the particulars — Wickham's voluntary resignation of the living in exchange for three thousand pounds, his squandering it in idleness and dissipation, his later application for the very living he had renounced — she was forced to hesitate. She could bring no proof of injustice. She tried to recollect some instance of Wickham's goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity, but no such recollection befriended her. His countenance and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue — but she could remember no more substantial good.

The story of his designs on Georgiana Darcy received confirmation from what Colonel Fitzwilliam had said. She perfectly remembered everything Wickham had told her at the Philipses' — and was now struck by the impropriety of such communications to a stranger. She saw the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions with his conduct. He had boasted of having no fear of seeing Darcy, yet avoided the Netherfield ball. He had told his story to no one but herself until the Netherfield family quit the country, then spread it everywhere — though he had assured her that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing the son.

How differently did everything now appear! His attentions to Miss King were the consequence of views solely and hatefully mercenary. Every lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter and fainter.

"How despicably have I acted!" she cried. "I, who have prided myself on my discernment! Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away. Till this moment, I never knew myself."

She re-read Darcy's account of Jane and Bingley with different eyes. How could she deny credit to his assertions in one instance, when she had been obliged to give it in the other? She could not deny the justice of his description — Jane's feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and there was a constant complacency in her air not often united with great sensibility. And when she came to the part about her family's want of propriety, her sense of shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly for denial. The compliment to herself and Jane soothed but could not console her for the contempt which had been self-attracted by the rest of her family.

Chapter XXXVII

The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning, and Mr. Collins, having been in waiting near the lodges to make them his parting obeisance, was able to bring home the pleasing intelligence of their appearing in very good health. Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting that, had she chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her as her future niece; nor could she think, without a smile, of what her Ladyship's indignation would have been.

Mr. Darcy's letter she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart. She studied every sentence, and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely different. When she remembered the style of his address, she was still full of indignation; but when she considered how unjustly she had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against herself, and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion. His attachment excited gratitude, his general character respect; but she could not approve him, nor could she for a moment repent her refusal, or feel the slightest inclination ever to see him again.

In her own past behaviour there was a constant source of vexation and regret; and in the unhappy defects of her family, a subject of yet heavier chagrin. Her father, contented with laughing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his youngest daughters; and her mother, with manners so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. How grievous was the thought that Jane had been deprived of happiness by the folly and indecorum of her own family!

Chapter XXXVIII

On Saturday morning, Mr. Collins paid the parting civilities which he deemed indispensably necessary. "I know not, Miss Elizabeth, whether Mrs. Collins has yet expressed her sense of your kindness in coming to us; but I am very certain you will not leave the house without receiving her thanks for it. We know how little there is to tempt anyone to our humble abode." He was gratified to observe that their connection with Rosings must have prevented the visit from being entirely irksome, and words were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings.

Poor Charlotte — it was melancholy to leave her to such society. But she had chosen it with her eyes open; and though evidently regretting that her visitors were to go, she did not seem to ask for compassion. Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and her poultry, and all their dependent concerns, had not yet lost their charms.

As the carriage drove off, Maria exclaimed, "How much I shall have to tell!" Elizabeth privately added, "And how much I shall have to conceal!" Their journey brought them within four hours to Mr. Gardiner's house in London, where they were to remain a few days. Jane looked well, and Elizabeth was pleased to see it, though there was little opportunity of studying her spirits amidst the various engagements her aunt had reserved for them. It was not without an effort that she could wait even for Longbourn before telling Jane of Darcy's proposal — but she feared being hurried into repeating something of Bingley that might only grieve her sister further.

Chapter XXXIX

It was the second week in May when the three young ladies set out together from Gracechurch Street for Hertfordshire. As they drew near the appointed inn, they perceived Kitty and Lydia looking out of a dining-room window upstairs — the two girls had been above an hour in the place, happily employed in visiting a milliner and watching the sentinel on guard. Lydia triumphantly displayed a bonnet she had bought: "I do not think it is very pretty, but I thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall pull it to pieces as soon as I get home." She announced that the regiment was to be encamped near Brighton in a fortnight, and she wanted papa to take them all there for the summer.

Elizabeth was shocked to find that the coarseness of Lydia's sentiments about Wickham and Mary King was little other than what her own breast had formerly harboured. The comfort of the regiment's approaching removal was beyond expression.

Chapter XL

Elizabeth at last told Jane of Darcy's proposal — suppressing every particular about Bingley. Jane's astonishment was soon lessened by sisterly partiality which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly natural. She was sorry Darcy had delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend them, but still more grieved for the unhappiness her sister's refusal must have given him. "His being so sure of succeeding was wrong, and certainly ought not to have appeared; but consider how much it must increase his disappointment."

When Elizabeth related the contents of the letter regarding Wickham, it was a stroke for poor Jane, who would willingly have gone through the world without believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind. Most earnestly did she labour to prove the probability of error, and seek to clear one without involving the other.

"This will not do," said Elizabeth. "You never will be able to make both of them good for anything. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied with only one. There is but such a quantity of merit between them; just enough to make one good sort of man; and of late it has been shifting about pretty much."

"I do not know when I have been more shocked," said Jane. "Wickham so very bad! And poor Mr. Darcy! Only consider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment, and with the knowledge of your ill opinion too, and having to relate such a thing of his sister!"

They agreed that Wickham's character should not be publicly exposed — Darcy had not authorized it, and the general prejudice against him was so violent that no one would believe them. Elizabeth dared not relate the other half of Darcy's letter about Bingley. Here was knowledge in which no one could partake.

She was now at leisure to observe Jane's spirits. Jane was not happy. She still cherished a very tender affection for Bingley — having never fancied herself in love before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment, and from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than first attachments often boast.

Chapter XLI

The regiment's departure from Meryton was approaching, and all the young ladies in the neighbourhood were drooping apace. Elizabeth felt anew the justice of Darcy's objections, and never had she been so disposed to pardon his interference in his friend's affairs.

Lydia received an invitation from Mrs. Forster to accompany her to Brighton. Elizabeth, considering it the death-warrant of all possibility of common sense for her sister, secretly advised her father not to let her go. She represented all the improprieties of Lydia's behaviour and the probability of her being yet more imprudent at Brighton, where temptations must be greater.

"If you, my dear father, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits," she urged, "she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will at sixteen be the most determined flirt that ever made herself and her family ridiculous."

Mr. Bennet heard her attentively but would not be moved. "Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances." Elizabeth was forced to be content, though her own opinion continued the same.

On the last day of the regiment's stay, Wickham dined at Longbourn. Elizabeth mentioned having seen Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy at Rosings, and observed that she thought Darcy improved on acquaintance. Wickham's alarm appeared in a heightened complexion. He tried to engage her on the old subject of his grievances, but she was in no humour to indulge him. They parted with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again.

Lydia departed with Mrs. Forster in clamorous happiness, while Kitty was the only one who shed tears — from vexation and envy.

Chapter XLII

Had Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could not have formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal felicity or domestic comfort. Her father, captivated by youth and beauty, had married a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind had very early put an end to all real affection for her. She had never been blind to the impropriety of his behaviour as a husband, but she had never felt so strongly as now the disadvantages which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents — talents which, rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.

Her tour to the Lakes was now her best consolation — until a letter from Mrs. Gardiner curtailed the scheme. Mr. Gardiner's business would delay them, and they must substitute a more contracted tour, going no farther northward than Derbyshire. Elizabeth was excessively disappointed; she had set her heart on seeing the Lakes. But it was her business to be satisfied, and certainly her temper to be happy; and with the mention of Derbyshire came many ideas connected with Pemberley and its owner. "But surely," said she, "I may enter his county with impunity, and rob it of a few petrified spars, without his perceiving me."

The Gardiners arrived, and they set off in pursuit of novelty and amusement. Near Lambton, Mrs. Gardiner's former residence, Elizabeth learned that Pemberley was within five miles. Her aunt wished to see it again. Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at Pemberley, and was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing it. The possibility of meeting Mr. Darcy, while viewing the place, instantly occurred — it would be dreadful! She blushed at the very idea. But upon privately inquiring of the chambermaid whether the family were down for the summer, and receiving a most welcome negative, her alarms were removed. To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.

VOLUME III

Chapter XLIII

Elizabeth watched for the first appearance of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation. The park was very large, and they drove through a beautiful wood before ascending to a considerable eminence where the eye was caught by Pemberley House — a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, backed by high woody hills, with a stream of natural importance before it whose banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. At that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something.

Inside, the rooms were lofty and handsome, the furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor but neither gaudy nor uselessly fine — with less of splendour and more real elegance than the furniture of Rosings. "And of this place," thought Elizabeth, "I might have been mistress! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own." But she recollected that her uncle and aunt would have been lost to her — she should not have been allowed to invite them. This was a lucky recollection; it saved her from something like regret.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, proved a most enthusiastic advocate for her master. "I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old. He was always the sweetest tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world." She praised him as the best landlord and best master that ever lived. "Some people call him proud, but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men."

Elizabeth listened, wondered, and doubted. "Can this be Mr. Darcy?" she thought. This was praise most extraordinary, most opposite to her ideas. What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant? Before a striking portrait of Darcy in the gallery, she felt a more gentle sensation towards the original than she had ever known in the height of their acquaintance. She thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of gratitude, remembered its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression.

As they walked across the lawn towards the river, the owner himself suddenly appeared from the road behind the house. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush. He absolutely started, seemed immovable from surprise, then shortly recovered himself and advanced towards the party, speaking to Elizabeth with perfect civility. She was amazed at the alteration of his manner since they last parted — every sentence increased her embarrassment. Never in her life had she seen his manners so little dignified, never had he spoken with such gentleness. What a contrast to his last address in Rosings Park, when he put his letter into her hand!

He returned a second time and asked to be introduced to her uncle and aunt. Elizabeth could hardly suppress a smile at his seeking the acquaintance of some of those very people against whom his pride had revolted in his offer to herself. That he was surprised by the connection was evident; he sustained it, however, with fortitude, entered into conversation with Mr. Gardiner, and invited him with the greatest civility to fish at Pemberley as often as he chose. Elizabeth was continually repeating to herself, "Why is he so altered? It cannot be for my sake that his manners are thus softened. My reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a change as this. It is impossible that he should still love me."

Walking together while the Gardiners fell behind, Elizabeth wished him to know she had been assured of his absence before coming. He acknowledged that business with his steward had brought him forward a few hours before the rest of his party. "They will join me early tomorrow," he continued, "and among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you — Mr. Bingley and his sisters."

Then, after a pause: "There is also one other person in the party who more particularly wishes to be known to you. Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance during your stay at Lambton?"

The surprise was great indeed — and gratifying. Whatever desire Miss Darcy might have of being acquainted with her must be the work of her brother, and it was satisfactory to know that his resentment had not made him think really ill of her. His wish of introducing his sister was a compliment of the highest kind.

Her uncle and aunt pronounced him infinitely superior to anything they had expected — perfectly well-behaved, polite, and unassuming. "I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us," said her uncle. "It was more than civil; it was really attentive." Elizabeth gave them to understand, in guarded terms, that Darcy's character was by no means so faulty, nor Wickham's so amiable, as they had been considered in Hertfordshire, and related the particulars of the pecuniary transactions without naming her authority.

Chapter XLIV

The very morning after their arrival at Lambton, Darcy brought his sister to call. Elizabeth's uncle and aunt, observing her embarrassment, began to suspect a partiality. Miss Darcy proved not proud but exceedingly shy — tall, womanly, and graceful at sixteen, with sense and good-humour in her face and perfectly unassuming manners. Elizabeth was much relieved.

Bingley arrived soon after, expressing himself with unaffected cordiality. Elizabeth observed him closely for signs of feeling for Jane. No particular regard appeared between him and Miss Darcy — the hopes of his sister were unfounded. But two or three little circumstances denoted a recollection of Jane not untinctured by tenderness. He observed, in a tone of real regret, that it "was a very long time since he had had the pleasure of seeing her — above eight months. We have not met since the 26th of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield." Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact.

Darcy's improvement of manners had outlived more than one day. When she saw him thus civil, not only to herself but to the very relations whom he had openly disdained, and recollected their last lively scene in Hunsford Parsonage, the difference was so great and struck so forcibly on her mind that she could hardly restrain her astonishment. Never, even among his dear friends at Netherfield or his dignified relations at Rosings, had she seen him so desirous to please, so free from self-consequence. They were invited to dine at Pemberley, and the day after the next was fixed on.

That night, Elizabeth lay awake two whole hours endeavouring to make out her feelings. She certainly did not hate him — hatred had vanished long ago. Above respect and esteem, there was gratitude: not merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still well enough to forgive all the petulance and acrimony of her rejection. Such a change in a man of so much pride excited not only astonishment but gratitude — for to love, ardent love, it must be attributed. She respected, she esteemed, she was grateful to him; she only wanted to know how far she wished his welfare to depend upon herself.

Chapter XLV

Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner called at Pemberley the next morning. They were received by Georgiana, Mrs. Hurst, and Miss Bingley. The latter watched Elizabeth closely, and when Darcy entered the room, jealousy had not yet made her desperate. She took the first opportunity of saying, with sneering civility: "Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the ----shire militia removed from Meryton? They must be a great loss to your family."

Elizabeth comprehended that Wickham was uppermost in her thoughts. An involuntary glance showed her Darcy with a heightened complexion, earnestly looking at her, and his sister overcome with confusion — for Miss Bingley had unknowingly touched upon the secret of Georgiana's near-elopement. Elizabeth's collected behaviour soon quieted Darcy's emotion, and the very circumstance designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth seemed to fix them on her more cheerfully.

After they left, Miss Bingley vented her feelings in criticisms on Elizabeth's person. "How very ill Eliza Bennet looks this morning! She is grown so brown and coarse!" She catalogued every deficiency of face and figure. Darcy was resolutely silent until she reminded him of once calling Elizabeth no beauty.

"Yes," he replied, unable to contain himself, "but that was only when I first knew her; for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance."

Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction of having forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself.

Chapter XLVI

Two letters from Jane arrived at once at Lambton, one having been mis-sent. The first brought alarming news: an express had come at midnight from Colonel Forster — Lydia had gone off from Brighton with Wickham, supposedly to Scotland. Jane wrote: "So imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing."

The second letter, written a day later, was far worse. "Imprudent as a marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland." Colonel Forster had traced them to Clapham, where they dismissed their chaise and took a hackney coach — continuing on the London road, not the road to Scotland. Denny had expressed his belief that Wickham never intended to marry Lydia at all. Mr. Bennet had gone to London with Colonel Forster. Jane begged her uncle's immediate assistance.

Elizabeth, finishing the letter in agony, rushed to find her uncle — and at the door encountered Mr. Darcy. Her pale face and impetuous manner made him start. "I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose."

"Good God! what is the matter?" he cried with more feeling than politeness. He urged her to sit, sent a servant for the Gardiners, and stayed with her in compassionate silence as she wept. She told him everything — Lydia had thrown herself into the power of Wickham. "You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to — she is lost for ever."

"When I consider," she added in a yet more agitated voice, "that I might have prevented it! I who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of what I learnt to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened."

Darcy was fixed in astonishment. He walked up and down the room in earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth understood — her power was sinking under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing consolatory. It was exactly calculated to make her understand her own wishes; and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him, as now, when all love must be vain.

He expressed his sorrow, wished for a happier conclusion than there was reason to hope, and with only one serious parting look, went away. As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they should ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality. She threw a retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties, and sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would now have promoted its continuance. If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. She saw him go with regret; and in this early example of what Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish. Never since reading Jane's second letter had she entertained a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her.

The Gardiners hurried back, and within an hour they were on the road to Longbourn.

Chapter XLVII

On the journey, Mr. Gardiner tried to hope for the best — surely Wickham would not form such a design against a girl who was by no means unprotected. Perhaps they had gone to London to be married more economically than in Scotland. Elizabeth was less sanguine. "Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia, what attractions has she beyond youth, health, and good humour?" She knew Wickham to be profligate in every sense of the word, without integrity or honour. "We both know that he has been as false and deceitful as he is insinuating."

Her aunt asked how Lydia could be so lost to everything. Elizabeth replied with tears in her eyes that Lydia was very young, had never been taught to think on serious subjects, and for a twelvemonth had been given up to nothing but amusement and vanity. "She has been doing everything in her power, by thinking and talking on the subject, to give greater susceptibility to her feelings. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of person and address that can captivate a woman."

They reached Longbourn by dinnertime the next day. Jane met Elizabeth in the vestibule — nothing had been heard of the fugitives. Mr. Bennet had gone to London on Tuesday and written only once.

Mrs. Bennet received them with tears and lamentations, blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the errors of her daughter must be principally owing. "If I had been able to carry my point in going to Brighton with all my family, this would not have happened! Poor dear Lydia had nobody to take care of her." She begged her brother to find them and make them marry, and above all to keep Mr. Bennet from fighting. "Tell him what a dreadful state I am in — that I am frightened out of my wits, and have such tremblings, such flutterings all over me, such spasms in my side and pains in my head, that I can get no rest by night nor by day."

Mr. Gardiner promised to go to London the next day and assist in every endeavour. Jane showed Elizabeth Lydia's note to Mrs. Forster — a thoughtless, laughing letter: "I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton. I can hardly write for laughing."

"Oh, thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!" cried Elizabeth. "At least it shows that she was serious in the object of her journey. Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her side a scheme of infamy."

Elizabeth and Jane lamented together that they had not exposed Wickham's character when they had the chance. "Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of him, this could not have happened!" But they had acted with the best intentions, and the regiment had been about to leave Meryton — the necessity of opening Lydia's eyes to his character had never occurred to them.

Chapter XLVIII

Mr. Gardiner went to London and found Mr. Bennet, who had been to Epsom and Clapham without gaining any satisfactory information. All Meryton was striving to blacken Wickham — he was declared to be in debt to every tradesman, and his intrigues had been extended into every family. It transpired that he had left gaming debts behind him to a very considerable amount; Colonel Forster believed more than a thousand pounds would be necessary to clear his expenses at Brighton alone.

A letter from Mr. Collins offered condolence of the most offensive kind, declaring that "the death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this," and reflecting with augmented satisfaction on Elizabeth's refusal of his own proposal — "for had it been otherwise, I must have been involved in all your sorrow and disgrace."

Mr. Bennet returned home, spiritless from the ill success of all their endeavours. "Say nothing of that," he told Elizabeth when she expressed her sorrow. "Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it." He bore her no ill-will for her advice about Lydia last May, "which, considering the event, shows some greatness of mind." He declared that no officer should ever enter his house again, and Kitty should not stir out of doors till she could prove she had spent ten minutes of every day in a rational manner.

Elizabeth was perfectly aware that, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia's infamy somewhat better. It would have spared her one sleepless night out of two.

Chapter XLIX

Two days later, an express arrived from Mr. Gardiner. Jane and Elizabeth ran through the house to find their father, who was walking towards the copse. He handed Elizabeth the letter.

Mr. Gardiner had found Lydia and Wickham. They were not married, nor had there been any intention of it — but if Mr. Bennet would assure Lydia her equal share of the five thousand pounds settled among his children, and allow her a hundred pounds per annum during his life, the marriage would take place. Lydia was to be married from the Gardiners' house in Gracechurch Street.

"Is it possible?" cried Elizabeth. "Can it be possible that he will marry her?"

"Complied with!" said Mr. Bennet of the terms. "I am only ashamed of his asking so little." He was certain that Mr. Gardiner must have laid down a considerable sum — no man in his senses would marry Lydia on so slight a temptation. "Wickham's a fool if he takes her with a farthing less than ten thousand pounds."

"Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be repaid?"

Mrs. Bennet's joy, when told the news, burst forth in violent transports. "My dear, dear Lydia! She will be married! She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew he would manage everything." She was disturbed by no fear for her daughter's felicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct, and immediately began dictating orders for wedding clothes — calico, muslin, and cambric.

Elizabeth took refuge in her own room. Poor Lydia's situation must at best be bad enough; but that it was no worse, she had need to be thankful. In looking forward, neither rational happiness nor worldly prosperity could be justly expected for her sister; but in looking back to what they had feared only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what they had gained.

Jane comforted herself with thinking that Wickham certainly would not marry Lydia if he had not a real regard for her. Elizabeth was less sanguine: "Their conduct has been such as neither you, nor I, nor anybody, can ever forget." But she was grateful beyond measure for her uncle's intervention — his taking Lydia home and affording her his personal protection was such a sacrifice as years of gratitude could not enough acknowledge.

Chapter L

Mr. Bennet now wished, more than ever, that instead of spending his whole income he had laid by an annual sum for his children's provision. When first he had married, economy was held perfectly useless — of course they were to have a son who would join in cutting off the entail. Five daughters successively entered the world, but the son was still to come. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then too late to be saving.

He acceded to the terms with grateful acknowledgment, scarcely believing how modest they were — he would be barely ten pounds a year the loser. Mr. Bennet was firm, however, that the couple should never have admittance to Longbourn. A long dispute with Mrs. Bennet followed, and she found with amazement that her husband would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his daughter. She was more alive to the disgrace of Lydia's want of new clothes than to any sense of shame at her eloping.

Elizabeth was most heartily sorry that she had made Darcy acquainted with their fears for Lydia. She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she hardly knew of what. She was convinced that she could have been happy with him — he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. By her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened; and from his judgment and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance. But no such happy marriage could now be formed.

Mr. Gardiner wrote that Wickham was to quit the militia for an ensigncy in the Regulars, quartered in the north. Jane and Elizabeth urged their father to receive the couple at Longbourn before they departed, and he was prevailed upon to consent.

Chapter LI

Their sister's wedding-day arrived, and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her probably more than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet them, and they were to return by dinnertime. Their arrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets; and Jane more especially, who gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended herself had she been the culprit, was wretched in the thought of what her sister must endure.

They came. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet as the carriage drove up; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed, anxious, uneasy. Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was thrown open, and she ran into the room. Her mother embraced her with rapture; and Wickham, who followed his lady, was welcomed with an affectionate smile. Their reception from Mr. Bennet was not quite so cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity, and he scarcely opened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple, indeed, was enough to provoke him. Lydia was Lydia still — untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their congratulations, and observed with a laugh that it was a great while since she had been there. "Ah, Jane, I take your place now, and you must go lower, because I am a married woman."

Elizabeth could not but feel how little was to be gained by the marriage of a sister whose conduct showed that respectability was beyond her reach. Wickham's manners were always so pleasing that, had his character and his marriage been exactly what they ought, his smiles and easy address would have delighted them all; but she had learnt to detect, in the very gentleness which had first charmed her, an affectation and a sameness to disgust and weary. She blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of the two who caused their confusion suffered no variation of colour.

Then Lydia let slip a devastating secret while describing her wedding: "However, I recollected afterwards that if he had been prevented going, the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well."

"Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth in utter amazement.

"Oh yes! He was to come there with Wickham, you know. But gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!"

Elizabeth could not bear such suspense. She wrote immediately to Mrs. Gardiner, requesting an explanation of what Lydia had dropped. "Pray write instantly, and let me understand it — unless it is, for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to think necessary."

Chapter LII

Mrs. Gardiner's reply revealed everything. Darcy had left Derbyshire only one day after Elizabeth, resolved to find Lydia and Wickham. He blamed himself — his pride and reserve had kept Wickham's worthlessness from being known. Through Mrs. Younge, Georgiana's former governess, he traced them to London. He found Lydia absolutely resolved on remaining where she was — she cared for none of her friends and would not hear of leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or other, and it did not much signify when.

Wickham, in his first conversation with Darcy, confessed that marriage had never been his design. He still cherished the hope of making his fortune by marriage in some other country. But Darcy negotiated everything: Wickham's debts were paid — considerably more than a thousand pounds — another thousand was settled on Lydia, and his commission was purchased. Mr. Gardiner had been forced to yield and let Darcy bear the whole expense, though he battled it for a long time.

"I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect of his character, after all," Mrs. Gardiner wrote. "Nothing was to be done that he did not do himself."

Elizabeth's feelings were in a flutter — pleasure and pain in equal measure. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart whispered that he had done it for her. She was proud of him — proud that in a cause of compassion and honour he had been able to get the better of himself. Oh, how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him! For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him.

Wickham, encountering Elizabeth in the garden, tried to engage her on the old subject of Darcy's wrongs. She silenced him with quiet firmness: "Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let us quarrel about the past."

Chapter LIII

After Lydia and Wickham departed for Newcastle, Mrs. Bennet's spiritless condition was shortly relieved by an article of news which set her mind agitating with hope once more: the housekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her master. Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, and smiled, and shook her head by turns.

"Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister," she said to Mrs. Philips. "Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes it."

Jane protested indifference — "I was only confused for the moment, because I felt that I should be looked at" — but her spirits were more disturbed, more unequal, than Elizabeth had often seen them.

Mr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through the assistance of servants, contrived to have the earliest tidings of it. But on the third morning after his arrival, she saw him from her dressing-room window enter the paddock and ride towards the house. Her daughters were eagerly called to partake of her joy. Jane resolutely kept her place at the table; but Elizabeth, to satisfy her mother, went to the window — she looked — she saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down again by her sister.

Mrs. Bennet talked on of her dislike of Darcy, not knowing that the whole family was indebted to him for Lydia's rescue. Elizabeth, who knew that her mother owed to the latter the preservation of her favourite daughter from irremediable infamy, was hurt and distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction so ill applied. But Elizabeth had sources of uneasiness which could not be suspected by Jane, to whom she had never yet had courage to show Mrs. Gardiner's letter, or to relate her own change of sentiment towards him. To Jane, he could be only a man whose proposals she had refused; but to Elizabeth's own more extensive information, he was the person to whom the whole family were indebted for the first of benefits, and whom she regarded with an interest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just, as what Jane felt for Bingley.

Darcy was grave and silent, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire than at Pemberley. Perhaps he could not in her mother's presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. He said scarcely anything, and was not seated by her. More thoughtfulness and less anxiety to please than when they last met were plainly expressed. She was disappointed, and angry with herself for being so. "Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent, did he come at all?"

Yet the beauty of her sister rekindled the admiration of Bingley. Every five minutes seemed to be giving Jane more of his attention. He found her as handsome as she had been last year, as good-natured, and as unaffected.

Chapter LIV

At a dinner party at Longbourn, Elizabeth eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take the place which, in all their former parties, had belonged to him by her sister. Her prudent mother, occupied by the same ideas, forborne to invite him to sit by herself. On entering the room he seemed to hesitate; but Jane happened to look round, and happened to smile: it was decided. He placed himself by her. Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He bore it with noble indifference; and she would have imagined that Bingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his eyes likewise turned towards Mr. Darcy with an expression of half-laughing alarm.

Darcy was seated far from Elizabeth, beside her mother, and they seldom spoke. She knew how little such a situation would give pleasure to either. Elizabeth would at times have given anything to be privileged to tell him that his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by the whole of the family. In the drawing-room afterwards, she hoped he would come to her, but the ladies crowded round the tea-table and there was no vacancy near her. He walked away to another part of the room. She followed him with her eyes, envied everyone to whom he spoke, and had scarcely patience enough to help anybody to coffee.

"A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to expect a renewal of his love?" She was a little revived when he brought back his coffee-cup himself, and she seized the opportunity of asking after his sister. But he stood by her only a few minutes in silence, then walked away.

Chapter LV

Bingley called again, alone — Darcy had gone to London for ten days. He came the next day, and the next. Mrs. Bennet schemed to leave him alone with Jane, winking at Elizabeth and Kitty until Kitty innocently asked, "What is the matter, mamma? What do you keep winking at me for?"

One evening, Elizabeth returned to the drawing-room to find Jane and Bingley standing together over the hearth in earnest conversation. Bingley ran out of the room, and Jane, embracing her sister, acknowledged with the liveliest emotion that she was the happiest creature in the world. "'Tis too much! By far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh, why is not everybody as happy?"

Mr. Bennet gave his consent: "Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will always exceed your income."

Mrs. Bennet's joy was beyond anything. "Oh, he is the handsomest young man that ever was seen!" Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her favourite child.

Bingley told Jane he had been totally ignorant of her being in town last spring. "It must have been his sisters' doing," Jane said. "Though we can never be what we once were to each other." Elizabeth was pleased to find he had not betrayed the interference of his friend.

Chapter LVI

One morning, about a week after Bingley's engagement with Jane, the family's attention was drawn to the window by the sound of a chaise and four driving up the lawn. It was Lady Catherine de Bourgh — and her astonishment at finding herself at Longbourn was nothing to the astonishment of the household at receiving her.

She entered with an air more than usually ungracious, and after a few stiff civilities, requested a private walk with Elizabeth. In the copse, she came directly to the point: a report of a most alarming nature had reached her — that Elizabeth would in all likelihood be united to her nephew, Mr. Darcy. "This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. Mr. Darcy is engaged to my daughter. From their infancy they have been intended for each other."

"If you believed it impossible to be true," said Elizabeth, colouring with astonishment and disdain, "I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far."

Lady Catherine was not accustomed to such language. She insisted that the engagement between Darcy and Miss de Bourgh was of a peculiar kind — the favourite wish of both their mothers. "Is this marriage to be prevented by a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to the family?"

Elizabeth's answer was steady. "If there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could in planning the marriage. Its completion depended on others."

"Obstinate, headstrong girl! You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose."

"That will make your Ladyship's situation at present more pitiable; but it will have no effect on me."

When Lady Catherine demanded to know whether Darcy had made her an offer, Elizabeth replied: "Your Ladyship has declared it to be impossible." And when pressed to promise she would never enter into such an engagement: "I will make no promise of the kind. I am only resolved to act in that manner which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me."

"In marrying your nephew," Elizabeth added, "I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman's daughter; so far we are equal."

"True. You are a gentleman's daughter. But what was your mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?"

"You can now have nothing further to say," Elizabeth replied. "You have insulted me in every possible method. I must beg to return to the house."

Lady Catherine departed in fury, turning at the carriage door to add: "I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased."

Chapter LVII

The discomposure of spirits which this extraordinary visit threw Elizabeth into could not be easily overcome. Lady Catherine had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings for the sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr. Darcy. From what the report could have originated, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine — till she recollected that his being the intimate friend of Bingley, and her being the sister of Jane, was enough, at a time when the expectation of one wedding made everybody eager for another, to supply the idea.

In revolving Lady Catherine's expressions, however, she could not help feeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her persisting in this interference. She knew not the exact degree of his affection for his aunt, or his dependence on her judgment; but it was natural to suppose that he thought much higher of her Ladyship than Elizabeth could do. With his notions of dignity, he would probably feel that the arguments which to Elizabeth had appeared weak and ridiculous contained much good sense and solid reasoning. If he had been wavering before, as to what he should do — which had often seemed likely — the advice and entreaty of so near a relation might settle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy as dignity unblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more.

"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise should come to his friend within a few days," she added, "I shall know how to understand it. I shall then give over every expectation, every wish of his constancy."

Mr. Collins's letter to Mr. Bennet, warning against the match, provided her father with great amusement. "Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any woman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in his life! It is admirable!" Elizabeth was forced to laugh when she would rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her by what he said of Darcy's indifference, and she could do nothing but wonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that perhaps, instead of his seeing too little, she might have fancied too much.

Chapter LVIII

Instead of an excuse, Bingley brought Darcy with him to Longbourn. They all walked out together, and when Kitty left them, Elizabeth went boldly on with Darcy alone. While her courage was high, she said: "Mr. Darcy, I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it."

"If you will thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you."

After a short pause, he added: "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."

Elizabeth gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The happiness which this reply produced was such as he had probably never felt before, and he expressed himself as sensibly and warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do.

They were indebted for their present good understanding to the efforts of his aunt. Lady Catherine had related her conversation with Elizabeth, dwelling on every expression of perverseness and assurance. "It taught me to hope," said Darcy, "as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine frankly and openly."

He confessed that he had been a selfish being all his life. "I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Such I was from eight to eight-and-twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled."

Chapter LIX

"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" was a question which Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered the room. She had only to say in reply that they had wandered about till she was beyond her own knowledge. She coloured as she spoke, but neither that nor anything else awakened a suspicion of the truth.

At night she opened her heart to Jane. "You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be! Engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no, you shall not deceive me. I know it to be impossible."

"This is a wretched beginning, indeed! My sole dependence was on you; and I am sure nobody else will believe me if you do not." But Jane was soon convinced by solemn assurances of attachment. "Good heaven! Can it be really so? My dear, dear Lizzy, I would — I do congratulate you; but are you certain — forgive the question — are you quite certain that you can be happy with him?"

"I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley," Elizabeth teased, before satisfying Jane with more serious assurances.

Her father was harder to persuade. "Lizzy, what are you doing? Are you out of your senses to be accepting this man? Have not you always hated him?"

How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been more reasonable, her expressions more moderate! She assured him, with tears in her eyes, that she loved Darcy. "I do, I do like him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms."

"I have given him my consent," said Mr. Bennet. "He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything which he condescended to ask. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable unless you truly esteemed your husband, unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life."

Elizabeth, still more affected, at length conquered her father's incredulity by enumerating with energy all Darcy's good qualities. When she told him what Darcy had voluntarily done for Lydia, he was astonished: "This is an evening of wonders, indeed! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy."

Mrs. Bennet's reaction was extraordinary. "Good gracious! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it? Oh, my sweetest Lizzy! How rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me? I shall go distracted." She stood in such awe of her intended son-in-law that she ventured not to speak to him unless it was in her power to offer him some attention.

Chapter LX

Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Darcy to account for having ever fallen in love with her. "How could you begin?" said she. "I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?"

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation," he said. "It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners — my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil. Now, be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?"

"For the liveliness of your mind I did."

She told him he had been sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention — "I roused and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just."

She wrote to Mrs. Gardiner: "Unless you believe me actually married, you cannot greatly err. I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but no one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world that can be spared from me. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas."

Chapter LXI

Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride she afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley and talked of Mrs. Darcy may be guessed. It was lucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic felicity in so unusual a form, that she still was occasionally nervous and invariably silly.

Mr. Bennet missed his second daughter exceedingly; his affection for her drew him oftener from home than anything else could do. He delighted in going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected.

Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield only a twelvemonth. So near a vicinity to her mother and Meryton relations was not desirable even to his easy temper or her affectionate heart. He bought an estate in a neighbouring county to Derbyshire, and Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source of happiness, were within thirty miles of each other.

Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time with her two elder sisters. In society so superior to what she had generally known, her improvement was great. As for Wickham and Lydia, their characters suffered no revolution from the marriage of her sisters. His affection for her soon sank into indifference; hers lasted a little longer. They were always moving from place to place in quest of a cheap situation, and always spending more than they ought.

Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew, and sent him language so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time all intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Elizabeth's persuasion, he was prevailed on to overlook the offence; and her resentment gave way, either to her affection for him or her curiosity to see how his wife conducted herself, and she condescended to wait on them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which its woods had received.

With the Gardiners, Darcy and Elizabeth were always on the most intimate terms. They were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them.